Needy Little Things(21)
Jude speaks first. “It’s good that she made the news, though, right? Getting the media involved will help.”
“One would hope,” Malcolm says. “But they didn’t even pick the story up on their own. As soon as the police had a reason to suspect foul play, my dad reached out to his media contact on behalf of Deja’s mom, Ms. Jasmine.”
“That’s great,” Jude says. “Not everyone who goes missing knows someone who knows someone.”
Malcolm gives a sarcastic snort, then mumbles, “Right. Too bad Dad didn’t know this lady when it might have helped his own daughter.” He clears his throat, then speaks at a normal volume. “She said it might be to Deja’s advantage that this happened at such a well-known event. Might be able to get the organizers to make a statement. They have reach.” He studies the dusty picture of him and Tessa on his windowsill. It seems to strike some fury in him, some energy. “We have to get this to go viral. That’s how we find her quick. And we have to find her quick. I already drafted up some posts for all the socials. If y’all don’t have accounts everywhere, make them. Even Facebook. It’s mostly old folks on there, but them aunties and godmommies know how to hit that share button. We should make posters, too. Hard copies and digital. Be useful, you know. The whole nation needs to be shouting ‘Find Deja’ ASAP.”
I frown, and Malcolm cocks his head to the side.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “There’s just something really foul about reducing her to a hashtag.”
“No, what’s foul is girls who never come home,” he retorts. “The hashtag worked for Casey. We need to do whatever it takes to get Deja’s name out there. We can’t rely on anyone to care as much as we do.”
No one mentions the elephant in the room, which is that yes, the country rallied for Casey, but it didn’t save her life. Part of me wondered if all the noise might have actually been the thing that led to her murder, but the autopsy showed she was killed the night she went missing. Which also provides no comfort in this situation.
“Hopefully this is over and Deja’s home before we have to worry about anything going viral.” Jude takes his glasses off and rubs his eyes. The skin around them is red. I’m not sure if it’s because he’s emotional, or if it’s been like that all day. Since last night.
There’s a knock on Malcolm’s door and his mom lets herself in. “Hey, you guys. Officer Penby said they’ve already faxed the missing person information along with Deja’s photo to all the local precincts.” Malcolm opens his mouth, but she cuts him off with a quickness. “I’m not saying y’all can’t make your posters. The more we can get her face out there, the better. Just letting you know. The detective on her case is named Habib.” She puts a business card on Malcolm’s dresser. “Run anything you make by him first. There are certain things they don’t want the public to know.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Malcolm answers.
I glance at him, silently asking permission to engage his mother in conversation. He picks up his laptop and I take it as a go-ahead. “Do you know anything else? Malcolm told us what they found this morning, but that’s not enough to assume something bad happened, is it?”
“Assume the worst and hope for the best is never more relevant than with a missing child.”
“I know, but other than the phone and pepper spray, do they have actual reasons to assume the worst?” The panic building inside me makes the words come out sharp and impatient. “Sorry. It’s just that this went from she’ll-turn-up-soon to suspected-foul-play so fast. How do we know something else wasn’t going on with her? Maybe Penby was on to something.”
Malcolm scoffs. “You know Deja better than that. She didn’t run off with some stranger she met last night.”
“No, I don’t mean that. But like, maybe there was something going on at home. Maybe she ran away.”
“Did she seem like she wanted to run away to you?” He leans forward, one brow raised. “Is that what you were thinking about Tess? Were you secretly agreeing with the cops when they wasted time spinning that bs about her being a troubled kid who ‘wanted space’ from her family?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Don’t. Don’t act like these two things are the same. Deja and Tessa are different people.”
“But will the police see them that way? Or will they see just another missing Black girl? You sure you want this runaway narrative escaping your mouth?”
“I just want hope, Malcolm! We know barely anything and everyone seems to be jumping straight to worst-case scenarios. I want to be sure there isn’t something we’re missing. This time I want to be sure there isn’t something we’re missing.”
He concedes, for now, with a slight nod. It’s always zero to one hundred and back with him.
Mrs. Hawkins places her hand on my upper back. Gives it a consoling rub. “I hear you, sweetheart. But you know the cops aren’t going to share every little thing they know with us. The best we can do is cooperate with them and control the things we can control.”
Malcolm fails to keep his expression neutral at that.
“Do we have a problem?” Mrs. Hawkins asks her son, hands on her hips, locs swaying with the sharp movement of her head.